5 year old son: “Daddy, I know what the worst word in the world is. It’s fuck!”
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Me, playing a rhyming game with 5 year old son: “What do you get if you replace the ‘d’ in ‘dog’ with an ‘f’?”
5 year old son: “Fuck!”
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Me, to 5 year old son: “I hope Santa brings me something nice.”
5 year old son: “Like a booty?”
My son has no idea how relevant that is. ‘Cuz yeah, I’d like some booty.
A lot of things have happened this year that have made me much more aware of how my relationship with Mrs. C. is going. It’s really quite easy to take it for granted and to switch into “everyday’s the same” mode where nothing special ever happens….but what’s the fun in that? Anyhow, firstly, a lot of our friends are getting divorced. Couples who we thought were on firm terra firma are all of a sudden being swept into the gaping void where they can’t stand each other and have to split apart to continue living. Which is one thing and I kind of get that; but when there are kids involved (and in most of the instances of our friends, there are) it takes the despair from the divorce and makes it that much more dark and ugly. How do you explain to a kid that his (or her) Mommy and Daddy don’t like each other anymore?
Secondly, Mrs. C. and I celebrated 12 years of marriage and she turned 40 in May. So we’ve spent more time together in the last couple of months than we do some years, and it’s been quite nice. And we’ve spent some quality time reflecting on all of this and where we’ve been and where we’re going. Honestly, my wife is growing old quite gracefully (you’ve seen her – she’s a knockout!) and I am more in love with her now than I was the day we married.
So, on one of our recent such reflective times, I said to her, “You still make my eyeballs pop out of my head. You’re a MILF.” She got that inquisitive look on her face and asked, “What’s a MILF?”
Which, by itself, is funny. Especially when I told her it means, “Maybe I Like France.” But it also harks back to a time early on in our relationship where somehow a conversation turned to “pearl necklaces,” and I thought she wanted me to go shopping at a jewelry store. Yep, I had NO idea what that meant.
So I guess now we’re even.
For some reason, the popsicles we buy have riddles on the sticks. And you can’t read the punchline until you eat the popsicle. Of course, sometimes the anticipation of laughing my ass off – or not – is too much and I take bites of the popsicle and finish it in 10 seconds instead of licking it slowly and finishing it in 5 minutes. Which would be the proper amount of time to allow for proper enjoyment of a frozen confection, based on some report some dude wrote. Or something. Anyway…
From today’s popsicle:
“What did the hockey player do when the thief demanded money?”
“He gave him a check.”
Happy Friday!
I’m giddy today. Giddy like Scooter Libby on sentencing day. Why? Because there is now one of these within a bike ride of my house. Oh, yeah. Let the healthy eating begin!
The other day I took the boys to Apex to swim….btw, Apex has a fantastic swimming pool, if you’ve never seen it nor swam in it. Anyway, there was a Mom there with her kids, and she was calling for one of her boys across the pool. His name? Marco. Seriously. At that moment, I had to make a quick decision. Do I launch into typical smart-ass comedian mode and yell “Polo?” Or do I swallow my comic tendencies and avoid the confrontation? Ultimately, my fatherly instincts overtook my comedy leanings and I didn’t say anything. But I yelled “Polo” several times in my head. And my head thought it was damn funny.
This weekend is the masturbate-a-thon in San Francisco. Back when I was going to college, I called that Tuesday. And Wednesday. And Thursday. And Friday. And Saturday. And Sunday. And, yes, Monday.
The G-Man goes to preschool down at the Auraria campus, and whenever there’s an outbreak of something in one of the rooms, they post it on the door for the benefit of the parents. You know, so when our kid comes down with shingles next week, we know we got it from little Billy last week and we can go have a little chat with little Billy’s parents about how it would be prudent to keep sick kids home from school. Seriously, people! Exercise empathy and keep that sick kid home so the rest of the world doesn’t get it! Or I’ll bring my kid in with leprosy!
Anyway, yesterday I was walking G to his room and we passed by one of the other rooms and it had on the door, and I’m not making this up, the following signs:
“We have been exposed to strep throat.”
“We have been exposed to pink eye.”
“We have been exposed to chicken pox.”
Wow. First of all, I hope that’s not one kid that’s doing all that exposing (like when I used to run around elementary school naked), and second of all, if you ever want to test whether or not your immune system’s working, go hang out at a preschool.
Footprints On The Ceiling 